Chapter Twenty-six

It was the eve of battle, and Thea couldn't shake the nagging sensation that they were missing something. She had expected to smell the acrid scent of burnt hair drifting through the air at any moment, yet it didn't come. Why would Artos not use the wraiths at his disposal? Or the reapers? It didn't make any sense.

She said as much to Esyllt in the command tent while they forced down what would likely be their last meal for a long while. The weapons master nodded in understanding, a far cry from the prickly man who'd once barked orders at her and made her polish shields in the armoury.

‘Artos likely needs the wraiths and reapers to hold Tver,' he explained. ‘Some of his forces will have stayed behind to keep the castle protected.'

‘From who?' Thea pressed. ‘He must know that all our forces are here. No one can take Tver unawares from the north.'

Esyllt shrugged. ‘He may be expecting some resistance from Thezmarr. He might not know I escaped with those who remained loyal. There are also Guardians still stationed throughout Harenth and Tver who could rally to our cause. They could attack Notos.'

Thea raised a brow. ‘And how likely is that?'

‘Not very,' Esyllt admitted. ‘The fact remains, we can only approach this battle with what we know. And what we know right now is that the wraiths aren't in his forces. Howlers, yes, arachnes, also yes, but not wraiths, which at least keeps his attack grounded.'

Thea gave a frustrated sigh. ‘This doesn't feel right.'

‘Welcome to war, Zoltaire,' Esyllt told her. ‘It never feels right.'

Those words made her blood run cold. Wishing he'd offered some notion of comfort instead, she bid him goodnight and went to find her sisters.

Anya and Wren were with Drue and Adrienne in the latter's tent. The women were perched on various objects around the cramped space, talking quietly. It was much smaller than the command tent, but cosier.

‘Thea.' Wren smiled as the tent flap dropped behind her.

‘I'm worried,' Thea said without preamble.

Anya nodded. ‘As are we all. I'd be concerned if you weren't.'

Looking around, Thea observed a notable absence. ‘Has anyone seen Audra?' she asked.

The women exchanged troubled glances.

‘No,' Wren answered. ‘She's probably with Farissa, checking our alchemical supplies on the eastern front.'

Drue offered Thea a flask, which she gratefully accepted. Taking a swig of fire extract, she sat herself on the end of Adrienne's cot. ‘What are we talking about?'

Drue waved a hand in Wren's direction. ‘We were just discussing how we need to find Wren some armour. She might not be swinging a blade, but she'll be on the field wielding her potions and concoctions alongside us.'

‘Good idea.'

‘I should have thought of it earlier,' Drue muttered. ‘Given the leather a chance to mould to her body.'

‘You should see that it goes to someone who can actually fight,' Wren argued. ‘I'm no warrior.'

Anya cut her a sharp look. ‘What have I told you? All women are warriors, Elwren. And you deserve to wear armour as much as anyone else. You're putting your life at risk, same as the rest of us.'

Wren flushed. ‘But…'

Thea's heart broke at her sister's protests. Was it her doing that Wren didn't feel worthy of armour? There had been a time when they were younger that Thea had not-so-subtly classed her own pursuits as worthier than the rest, believing physical fighting was a more noble undertaking than anything else. She knew better now – she had known better for a long time – and now she'd make sure Wren knew it too.

She strode forward and gripped her younger sister by the shoulders. ‘For the longest time, women have been erased, little by little, or in the case of the Furies themselves, in one fell swoop. We have lived in the shadow of the rights and laws of men. But when the world is reborn, it will be of our own making. You're fighting for that world, and you have the same right to armour as the rest of us. You are surrounded by women who want to see you empowered, and that is stronger than any fucking army in these realms. Don't let the world – don't let anyone convince you that you're not enough. Only you define your story. You and you alone. When they tell you what you're not, when they tell you what you can't do, remember: you are the storm, Elwren. You split the skies and flood the plains. You make the ground tremble beneath their boots. No one can fucking stop you.'

Adrienne let out a low, appreciative whistle, but Thea kept her gaze trained on the celadon eyes that matched her own.

Wren's lower lip trembled, but she lifted her chin. ‘I'll wear the armour.'

‘Damn straight you will.'

The hour was late when Thea excused herself, needing a moment alone to clear her head as dawn approached all too quickly.

She went into the woods to relieve herself, hoping she'd get a few hours of sleep with Wilder's arms around her before she donned her armour and the clash of steel rang out across the icy field. When she had finished seeing to her needs, she started back towards camp, threading through the barren trees, marvelling at how the world seemed to be dying before their eyes. Evergreen pines bore no leaves, daggers of ice and flakes of frost the only things adorning their branches. Beyond the skeletal canopy, clouds gathered over the moon and stars, blanketing them in darkness as if in preparation for what was to come —

A stick snapped behind Thea.

She whirled around to see Sebastos Barlowe's contorted face as he lurched forward, the pommel of his sword raised to club her across the head.

Thea ducked, though her skin crawled at the sight of him. He'd been waiting for her.

‘I knew you weren't really what they said,' he sneered, eyes catching on her Warsword totem. ‘You didn't even hear me coming.'

‘What do you want?' Disdain dripped from Thea's words.

Seb took a step towards her, resentment etched across his face as he spoke. ‘You're the reason Vernich denounced me.'

Thea snorted. ‘That was all you, Seb. Imagine, even Vernich the Bloodletter can't stand the sight of you.'

But Seb's gaze was locked on her Naarvian steel sword, a taunt lifting his lip. ‘I can only imagine what you did to get that.'

‘You mean pass the Great Rite like the Warsword I am?' she scoffed.

There was a glint in Seb's eye now that made her uneasy, but she refused to step back, to yield. She had more strength and power in her little finger than he had in his whole body, whether the bastard believed it or not.

His free hand moved, not to the second weapon at his hip, but to his belt. To Thea's horror, he started unbuckling it. ‘I think it's time I saw what all the fuss was about when it comes to you. You must have a cunt made of gold if it got you this far.'

Thea unsheathed her blade, the steel singing as it left her scabbard. ‘After everything, you still can't accept the fact that a woman beat you, can you?'

Seb laughed darkly, advancing. ‘Beat me?'

‘I am a Warsword of the midrealms.'

‘You're a pretender. You always have been.'

‘You truly mean to attack a Warsword, and an heir of these realms, in the dark here like a coward?'

‘I don't give a fuck about your supposed titles. I'll show everyone what truly lies beneath that pretty face.'

Thea's skin crawled at his words, at the unhinged twist of his features. ‘You're delusional,' she realised aloud. ‘You really can't see that there's no outcome in which you walk away from this.'

Seb made a grab for her.

Thea sidestepped easily, twirling her blade, resignation settling heavy in her gut. ‘I should have ended you years ago.'

And then, he attacked in earnest. With his belt buckle still undone, Seb raised his sword and lunged for her.

Thea barely needed to think as she deflected his blows with quick taps of her blade. She was stronger, faster, more agile than he would ever be. For all his parries and strikes, his sword got nowhere near her. Thea let him attack with everything he had, watching as his rage intensified with every unsuccessful blow, sweat beading at his brow.

As she deflected another jab, she realised that his fury wasn't for her alone, but for all women. That despite every ounce of evidence she'd shown him over the years that she was capable, that she was a true protector of the midrealms, he would never believe it. He didn't want to. And that meant there was no place for him in this world, the world they were trying to defend and rebuild anew.

Panting, Seb thrust his sword at her and Thea knocked it aside, wondering how long it would take him to realise that he was at her mercy, that he could never win against her.

Vile words spilt from his mouth along with flecks of spit. ‘I'm surprised you can walk after taking so much cock for that totem. But at least you're broken in. When I'm through with you —'

Thea blocked another pitiful strike of his blade.

He snarled. ‘I'll leave you bleeding in the dirt where you belong, stray.'

Stray… The name he'd called her since they were teenagers; the word he'd spat in her direction at every chance he got.

‘Have you said everything you need to say?' Thea asked, her voice cool and steady.

He lashed out with his sword, swiping it through the air clumsily. ‘Fuck you, whore. Drop the blade and it'll be over soon.'

Thea took a deep breath and poised herself to strike. ‘You're right,' she said. ‘It will be over soon.'

She knocked Seb's blade from his grasp without a thought, his eyes widening as it hit the snow. Her gaze didn't leave him as she sheathed her own sword, waiting.

Momentary confusion flashed across his face before he tried to take the advantage. Seb charged her.

And Thea's hand closed around his throat.

With her Furies-given strength, she lifted him up so his feet kicked the air beneath him and his nails clawed at her.

This time, she showed no mercy.

This time, he would not walk away.

His pulse raced beneath her palm and she stared into his bulging, bloodshot eyes, watching as a pitiful realisation dawned there.

But it was too late. There was no coming back from this now.

With a flick of her wrist, Seb's bones broke beneath her strength, and Thea snapped his neck.

He went limp instantly in her hold and she dropped his lifeless body in the snow.

A blur of black fur shot out from her side, a vicious growl echoing through the trees. A powerful canine jaw closed around Seb's neck —

Blood spurted.

And in one violent wrench, Dax ripped out Sebastos Barlowe's throat.

Though Seb was already dead, Malik's dog tore him to shreds, and Thea watched every gory moment of it. When his blood stained the snow in wide red pools and his face was an unrecognisable pulp, Thea stood over his body.

‘It was everything he deserved,' she told Dax, who rubbed his bloodied snout through a patch of clean snow. ‘Thank you, my friend.'

Thea had wanted to end Seb so badly herself that she'd forgotten there were others who were owed that taste of vengeance as much as she was – more so. Malik, Cal, Kipp… They had all suffered at Seb's hands, had all endured his malice and cruelty, but no more. Blood oozed from the corpse at Thea's feet and she felt no remorse, only relief, for there was one less monster in the midrealms now.

‘Come on, Dax,' she said quietly. She didn't know what the consequences of Seb's death would be, for her or for her canine friend, but she wasn't going to risk Dax being discovered beside the mauled body.

With a soft bark, the mongrel followed her back to camp. But Thea didn't return to her tent, didn't seek out her friends to tell them of Seb's fitting demise. Instead, she sought out Fendran in the weapons stores. When she entered the tent, her eyes found the blacksmith immediately.

‘Is it ready?' she asked.